mahmod12345

[mahmod12345]

Thank you @ms-mxyzptlk and everyone who got me to 5 reblogs!

The Story of a Displaced Gazan Family:

Our story began on the morning of October 7th. I had woken up as usual to get ready for school, while my father Nidal, as always, was up early to go to his construction job, and my mother Amani was preparing breakfast for us. But that morning was different; it wasn't like any other morning. Barely an hour had passed before the sounds of massive explosions echoed everywhere. The peaceful morning transformed into a horrifying scene, as if the entire city was shaking beneath our feet 💔.

Within moments, Gaza turned into a sea of fire and smoke. The sky was filled with aircraft, and shells rained down on every corner. There was no time to think or make decisions—every moment held danger that threatened our lives 😞. My father was talking with our neighbors, then he returned to us, his voice filled with worry: "We have to leave immediately. We’ll go south, where it might be safer."

We hurriedly gathered whatever essentials we could—some clothes, some food—and carried my little brother Ahmed, who was just five years old. My mother held him close, as if shielding him from the world 🌍💔. My sister Sama cried silently while holding my hand, and my brother Mohammed looked scared but tried to hide his fear.

The Journey South:

The journey was long and difficult; we took rugged paths and tried to avoid areas that might be targeted. Other families were also fleeing, each carrying their own story of suffering and fear 😔. Children were crying, mothers exchanged worried glances, and fathers silently searched for safety. After hours of walking, we finally reached a southern area where some makeshift tents were set up for shelter. We had to start over, but this time, our home was just a tent that barely shielded us from the harsh summer heat or the cold winter nights 🏕️.

Life in the Tent:

Life in the tent was harsh and difficult 💔. It was small, not enough to meet our basic needs. During the day, the sun blazed intensely 🔥, and we tried to hide from its stifling heat. At night, the air was cold, and we huddled together for warmth. We had no electricity, and the only blankets we had were those distributed by aid agencies 😞.

In the first weeks, things were extremely challenging; we barely had access to clean water, and sometimes we had to drink contaminated water, which led to health issues 🤢. We suffered from diarrhea and fevers frequently, and our bodies grew weak, especially my little brother Ahmed, who developed a persistent cough and high fever 😥.

Health and Skin Issues:

Over time, red spots and severe itching began to appear on our skin. At first, we didn’t understand what was happening to us, but soon we realized we were suffering from skin diseases due to the lack of cleanliness and insufficient water to bathe regularly 💔. Both my skin and Mohammed’s were covered in itchy sores that caused us intense pain 😢.

My mother was worried about all of us, especially Sama, my fourteen-year-old sister, who was developing severe allergies. She tried not to tell my mom about the pain she was feeling, but sometimes she would wake up at night crying 😭. We missed seeing a doctor; in this area, only one doctor visited occasionally to give out some basic medicines, which were not enough for our condition 💔.

Psychological Struggles:

It wasn’t just the physical suffering that we endured; fear and uncertainty loomed over our lives. I would wake up every night to the sound of Mohammed screaming in his sleep 😰; he constantly dreamt of scenes of war and bombings, and these dreams turned into nightmares that haunted all of us 😟. My mother would whisper words of comfort, though she too was struggling in silence. She tried to hide her tears from us, but I could feel her pain and her helplessness to protect us from everything happening around us 💔.

My father, Nidal, was always trying to find work in the south to provide us with some food, but each time he returned disappointed; work was scarce, and the situation was hard 😞. He looked at us with eyes full of sorrow and pain, especially when he saw my little brother Ahmed pleading for a small piece of candy or a toy to ease his suffering 😔🍬.

Life Without Hope:

The days passed slowly, each day bringing a new challenge. I tried to find hope in anything—a conversation with our displaced neighbors, or a small laugh from my brother Mohammed when he tried to forget. But everything around us reminded us of our harsh reality: the dust covering our faces, the increasing illnesses, and the hunger that never left our bellies 🍂😔.

I started feeling that life was slipping away from us, and that the world had completely forgotten us. We hoped this war would end soon, so we could return to our home, which is now destroyed. But as days passed, those hopes began to fade 💔. The idea of going back became a distant dream, and staying in this tent became an inescapable reality 🏕️.

Conclusion:

Today, as we live amid this suffering, all I can do is share our story and try to hold on to a glimmer of hope. We may not have a home, we may not have enough food or healthcare, but we still have each other ❤️. My mother, my father, and my siblings are all I have, and I will stay strong for them, no matter the hardships.

[mahmod12345]

The Story of a Displaced Gazan Family:

Our story began on the morning of October 7th. I had woken up as usual to get ready for school, while my father Nidal, as always, was up early to go to his construction job, and my mother Amani was preparing breakfast for us. But that morning was different; it wasn't like any other morning. Barely an hour had passed before the sounds of massive explosions echoed everywhere. The peaceful morning transformed into a horrifying scene, as if the entire city was shaking beneath our feet 💔.

Within moments, Gaza turned into a sea of fire and smoke. The sky was filled with aircraft, and shells rained down on every corner. There was no time to think or make decisions—every moment held danger that threatened our lives 😞. My father was talking with our neighbors, then he returned to us, his voice filled with worry: "We have to leave immediately. We’ll go south, where it might be safer."

We hurriedly gathered whatever essentials we could—some clothes, some food—and carried my little brother Ahmed, who was just five years old. My mother held him close, as if shielding him from the world 🌍💔. My sister Sama cried silently while holding my hand, and my brother Mohammed looked scared but tried to hide his fear.

The Journey South:

The journey was long and difficult; we took rugged paths and tried to avoid areas that might be targeted. Other families were also fleeing, each carrying their own story of suffering and fear 😔. Children were crying, mothers exchanged worried glances, and fathers silently searched for safety. After hours of walking, we finally reached a southern area where some makeshift tents were set up for shelter. We had to start over, but this time, our home was just a tent that barely shielded us from the harsh summer heat or the cold winter nights 🏕️.

Life in the Tent:

Life in the tent was harsh and difficult 💔. It was small, not enough to meet our basic needs. During the day, the sun blazed intensely 🔥, and we tried to hide from its stifling heat. At night, the air was cold, and we huddled together for warmth. We had no electricity, and the only blankets we had were those distributed by aid agencies 😞.

In the first weeks, things were extremely challenging; we barely had access to clean water, and sometimes we had to drink contaminated water, which led to health issues 🤢. We suffered from diarrhea and fevers frequently, and our bodies grew weak, especially my little brother Ahmed, who developed a persistent cough and high fever 😥.

Health and Skin Issues:

Over time, red spots and severe itching began to appear on our skin. At first, we didn’t understand what was happening to us, but soon we realized we were suffering from skin diseases due to the lack of cleanliness and insufficient water to bathe regularly 💔. Both my skin and Mohammed’s were covered in itchy sores that caused us intense pain 😢.

My mother was worried about all of us, especially Sama, my fourteen-year-old sister, who was developing severe allergies. She tried not to tell my mom about the pain she was feeling, but sometimes she would wake up at night crying 😭. We missed seeing a doctor; in this area, only one doctor visited occasionally to give out some basic medicines, which were not enough for our condition 💔.

Psychological Struggles:

It wasn’t just the physical suffering that we endured; fear and uncertainty loomed over our lives. I would wake up every night to the sound of Mohammed screaming in his sleep 😰; he constantly dreamt of scenes of war and bombings, and these dreams turned into nightmares that haunted all of us 😟. My mother would whisper words of comfort, though she too was struggling in silence. She tried to hide her tears from us, but I could feel her pain and her helplessness to protect us from everything happening around us 💔.

My father, Nidal, was always trying to find work in the south to provide us with some food, but each time he returned disappointed; work was scarce, and the situation was hard 😞. He looked at us with eyes full of sorrow and pain, especially when he saw my little brother Ahmed pleading for a small piece of candy or a toy to ease his suffering 😔🍬.

Life Without Hope:

The days passed slowly, each day bringing a new challenge. I tried to find hope in anything—a conversation with our displaced neighbors, or a small laugh from my brother Mohammed when he tried to forget. But everything around us reminded us of our harsh reality: the dust covering our faces, the increasing illnesses, and the hunger that never left our bellies 🍂😔.

I started feeling that life was slipping away from us, and that the world had completely forgotten us. We hoped this war would end soon, so we could return to our home, which is now destroyed. But as days passed, those hopes began to fade 💔. The idea of going back became a distant dream, and staying in this tent became an inescapable reality 🏕️.

Conclusion:

Today, as we live amid this suffering, all I can do is share our story and try to hold on to a glimmer of hope. We may not have a home, we may not have enough food or healthcare, but we still have each other ❤️. My mother, my father, and my siblings are all I have, and I will stay strong for them, no matter the hardships.